“All right. I’m in,” Trip said at length. “At least until we get done neutering this Romulan invasion.

“Just tell me what I have to do.”

Eleven

Monday, February 10, 2155

Enterprise NX‑01

JONATHAN ARCHER SIPPED COFFEE from a tall metal mug as he shuffled down an E‑deck corridor toward the captain’s mess. He wasn’t a stranger to exhaustion–it often seemed to be a prerequisite for a captain–but last night he’d gotten even less sleep than usual. Something wasn’t sitting right with what was going on with the ship, andwith Shran. He suspected that getting Shran off the ship might help him sleep better for a night or two, but the consequences of that action might be problematic for the crew at a later date. And not just because of the suspicions shared by Shran, Trip, and himself about the purpose and destination the Orions intended for their Aenar captives.

He rounded a corner and was surprised to see Trip waiting for him outside the captain’s mess. The commander looked haunted; not a huge step down from his demeanor ever since the Terra Prime incident and the death of his daughter, but he definitely looked wearier than he had when he’d gone off‑shift yesterday.

“I need to talk with you, Captain,” Trip said, his voice plaintive.

“Sure, Trip,” Archer said, patting his old friend on the shoulder. “Come on in. Have you had breakfast yet? I can have Chef whip something up for you.”

Trip took the first seat at the round metallic table, opposite the viewport. “No, thanks, Captain. I’m not really very hungry right now.”

Archer seated himself at his regular spot, glad to see a covered dish already waiting for him. “Suit yourself,” Archer said, lifting the cover. Chef had prepared eggs Florentine and crкpes today, along with three wedges of the multigrain toast that Archer preferred.

Unfolding his napkin, Archer asked, “Now then, what can I do for you?”

“I want to get this all out before you say anything, Captain,” Trip said, splaying his hands across the table in front of him. “It’s going to be difficult enough to get through this without interruptions–no offense–and I really want to finish.”

Archer smiled wanly and cut a bite of crкpe with the edge of his fork. “The floor is yours.”

The captain wasn’t quite sure what he expected Trip to say, but several minutes later, when the engineer’s tale seemed to be winding to a close, Archer’s meal had gone cold, and he hadn’t eaten anything past the first bite. He’d expected something related to Trip’s relationship with T’Pol–perhaps a heartache‑heavy request for another transfer–or some news of a discovery about Shran or the Aenar, or even some minor conjectures about the Romulans, but this…

“Are you finished?” Archer asked.

Trip sighed. “More or less. For the moment.”

Archer fixed his chief engineer with a steely gaze. “So they want to send you into Romulan space as a field operative. Okay, it’s a tactic as old as Homer. But even supposing that Harris’s intelligence about the Romulans is correct, along with all our suppositions about how they plan to use the Aenar against us, what real pointis there in having you infiltrate the Romulan Star Empire?”

Trip looked puzzled. “We’ve got to sabotage their war plans somehow.”

“‘Somehow’ is pretty damned vague, Trip.” Archer felt he had to persist with a few admittedly merciless questions before he allowed his old friend to go any further down such a dangerous road. “How exactly could one agent in disguise stop any attack against Coridan Prime? I’m pretty sure you never took a course in conversational Romulan.”

“Maybe I should ask Harris to consider asking Hoshi to go instead,” Trip said wryly.

Archer raised a placating hand. “I’m not trying to shoot you down, Trip. But there’s a lot to consider here. For one thing, no Coalition ship is likely to be within range of the most powerful transmitter you could carry while you’re in Romulan space.”

Trip nodded. “I admit, I may have to improvise. Commandeer some of their equipment. Live off the land a bit.”

“More than a bit, Trip. And have you really considered the danger? The Romulans can probably detect and destroy any ship you bring into their space fairly easily. And I assume they’re security‑minded enough to make it pretty difficult for you to ‘live off the land.’ I’m pretty sure you won’t be able to just pop in and out of Romulan space at will, or smuggle secret communiquйs to us when you can’t raise us over the subspace bands. So what’s the real advantage, given all the downside? And how are you even going to doit?”

“Harris plans on putting me under deep cover. From the sound of it, it’ll involve some surgical alterations, to make me look like a Romulan.”

That raised another point that Archer hadn’t even considered. “Do they knowwhat the Romulans look like?”

Trip shrugged. “Harris says they don’t. But they have connections with people who do. People who supposedly can make me look enough like one of them to pass.”

“Well, at least we know they’re humanoid,” Archer said, half under his breath. He’d often wondered how a race that was so feared throughout the known galaxy could have remained so secretive. But as he had learned over the four years he’d commanded Enterprise, every race–every society–had its secrets, at least to some degree. Like the Coridanites, who for some reason had never allowed outworlders to see the unmasked faces of their diplomats, and guarded their high‑warp technological secrets jealously, even from their interstellar allies and trading partners.

“I’ll be working alongside one of their most experienced operatives.” Trip said. “Our job will be to infiltrate their new stardrive project and sabotage it. They need someone with engineering experience to pull this off. That’s why they can’t use Malcolm.”

“And what about the telepathically piloted drone ships, and the Aenar, and the possible assault on Coridan? You’re going to stop those, too?”

Trip rolled his eyes, and breathed out heavily through his nose. “No, sir. It looks like those jobs will be up to you.”

Archer snorted. “So this secret intelligence group thinks that I’lljust do their bidding as well? We’re not a defensive first‑strike vessel, no matter how many MACOs or new weapons we’ve taken on since the Xindi attack.”

“I really don’t think it has anything to do with what Harris or his group wants, Captain,” Trip said, leaning forward. “You’re already onthe trail of the Orions. If this is all real–which I believe it is, and I think youdo as well–you know that events are going to pull you in. And one way or another, you’re gonna make sure that the Romulans don’t get their way.”

Archer spread his hands wide and looked toward the ceiling, as if appealing to a higher power. A tremendous weight seemed to settle squarely upon his shoulders. “‘Events are going to pull me in.’ Nice way to say either that I’m predictable, or that I’m easily manipulated by outside forces.”

“That’s not what I meant, sir.” Trip sighed and shook his head. “I’m just not saying it quite right.”

Archer rose and walked to the viewport and gazed out at the distorted, warp field‑streaked stars. At times like this, I sure could use a sunrise at breakfast time,he thought. Finally, he turned back toward Trip, who had remained seated, looking up at him with a mixture of trepidation and resolve in his eyes.

“You said it right enough, Trip. I don’t trust this Harris, but I’ve done a little digging, and I know his organization is real, and it issanctioned by Starfleet, even if only the upper brass seems to know anything about it. And the conclusions we’re all reaching on this ship seem to support the idea that the Romulans have got some very deadly schemes in the works right now.”